Bond Breaker (SI - Multiverse Cross)
- Thread starter shadenight123
- Start date
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Quite, but some aren't assholes about it. That's the one thing that makes renegade!Shepard particularly bad and displeasant to even witness. Some comedic sociopath ala 8-bit Black Mage would be more appreciable, though not exactly relatable or even empathizable at all.
Of course, in this case it makes it extremely satisfying to watch her break.
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28
- Location
- https://discord.gg/z9tBvbh
Chapter Twenty-Seven
"Go ahead," Shepard said flatly to both Jacob and Miranda. "Wait for me at the entrance. I need to check on something."
"Commander-" Miranda began, but Shepard merely had to glare at her -even through the helmet- for her to shut up and obey.
In the hallway just outside the clinic, as the place grew dimmer due to the warning signs of lack of air, Shepard whirled on me and...stopped midway.
She had begun to raise her gun, but suddenly found herself realizing that it wouldn't work.
"So~," I said, "Realized it finally? I am not a byproduct of your imagination."
"I don't let anyone talk to me like that," Shepard said calmly, or at least trying to.
"No? You mean, you don't let anyone talk to you like you talk to the rest of the world?"
Shepard glared. "I can ignore you for another day."
"And billions can die in little more than an hour," I flatly said. "Or a minute, really. Tick-Tock," I moved my index finger sideways, "Tick-Tock. You've got to deal with the air exchange for now, Shepard. Do concentrate on that, would you?"
"You're not going to tell me how to stop the Reapers?"
"If I had arrived years ago, I would have," I said flatly. "Now however, it's no longer possible. The Reapers are coming. The Collectors are merely acquiring genetic samples of the main races and softening up with plagues and whatnot the galaxy, so that they'll have an easier time. Do you understand? They'll slip in, either through a backdoor or by the main door. And you can't stop them. Oh, sure, you can try, but the only true way of keeping them at bay was to never let the signal go at all. Now? Now you have to suffer through the deal to stave them off. But at least you do get a chance," I sighed. "And it's not going to be pretty."
Shepard snorted. "Since when is any of this pretty?"
"Oh, you'd be surprised. A lot of things can be pretty if viewed the right way."
"So what are you?" Shepard asked. "You're not a hallucination, and you know too much about me, too much about the mission, too much about everything. What are you?"
I blinked. "I told you, I am-"
"That's bullshit."
"No, it's not," I said flatly. "Your belief that there is only one reality and only one commander Shepard out in all of the existence is quite selfish. You aren't so special as to be an unique existence," I deadpanned. "There are countless Shepards, males, females, with better backgrounds than yours, with families, or without, as better guys, or better women than you, and so forth." I shrugged. "I suppose some are even called Gary or Mary."
"This doesn't help me fight the Reapers."
"No? Are you sure?" I drawled. "Maybe if you stopped calling bullshit where there is none, I might be able to help you."
"Where do you get the information? The Shadow Broker?" Shepard hazarded.
"So, at the moment, what do you think I am actually?" I asked offhandedly.
"A secret services operative using an anti-grav floating device and some form of trick with an invisibility cloak field when you pass through solid matter," she answered.
"Really," I said flatly. "And about the gun?"
"You have an illusion of yourself talking to me while you stay hidden nearby."
"This is bullshit," I snarled. "And my knowledge of future events, that happen just seconds after?"
"You could have predicted the logical outcome ahead of the doctor, or you could be in league with him."
I massaged my temples. "There is no worst blind man than the one who does not wish to see."
"So, you're lapdog of which secret service?"
"None," I grumbled. "Frankly," I floated closer to her, "If I were and had that knowledge, I would never choose you to save the galaxy. I'd go to the Geth."
Shepard blinked. "You'd save the Galaxy from the Reapers by going to the Geth?"
"Indeed. There are two factions of Geths, the Heretics and the Geth, the Heretics are the one fighting for the Reapers, and have sacrificed their future hoping for one given to them by the Reapers. Funnily enough, they don't realize they'll be exterminated when the war's over. The Geth, instead, are isolationists and simply want to be left alone to create a Dyson sphere, in which 'to live together forever'. They're pretty sweet when you think about it. They just want to be left in peace."
"The Geth," Shepard deadpanned. "The Geth are better than me," she added. "I can kill a Geth Colossus with my bare hands. And they're better than me. And how would you go about contacting them, then?"
"They started an experiment on whether they could get organics to believe anything, something about an extra moon on a planet. It worked so well they even got a religion started over it," I remarked. "Find the forum, find the user who started it, then send him a Private Message if he's still registered. If he's not, find out which set of network relays he used...or just open another discussion on a public net forum. Maybe a Geth-loving one."
"A Geth-Loving forum?"
"Why, you don't think they exist in Citadel space? The Internet, unless it changed drastically, always holds a simple truth: there is everything, you just need to know how to find it."
Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Really."
"Yes, really," I drawled.
"You'd contact the Geth over the internet."
"Yes, and you'd need surprisingly little words to actually get their attention. Something like 'Nazara. Geth Heretics. I understand a Platform is looking for me, and I'm Commander Shepard.'."
"Wait, a platform?" Shepard blinked.
"Yes, the Geth have sent a platform looking for you," I nodded. "To initiate first contact and ask for help in fighting the Reapers."
"For a secret service guy-"
"I am not a member of secret services," I flatly hissed.
"Of course, if you were one you wouldn't tell me."
"We're wasting time,"I sighed. "I already broke you once, breaking you again right now doesn't seem-"
"You didn't break me," Shepard interrupted me.
"Oh no?" I raised an eyebrow. "Your breakdown in the Normandy-"
"I was just tired," Shepard drawled.
"Next thing you'll tell me is that you started your menopause," I deadpanned.
"I am not that old!"
"No?" I inclined my head to the side. "Don't bitches go in menopause early?"
Shepard flinched. "I don't have to stay and listen to your shit, you know?"
"Oh, of course not," I nodded. "Billions die if you don't, but who cares? Slaughter, carnage, murder, little children corpses burning alive under the rays of Reapers' weaponry...who cares." I shrugged.
"Look, can't you just give me something to work on? You don't have to like me, but we could at least work something out."
"Oh, but we are working something out," I deadpanned. "I can't force you to do things, Shepard. On the other hand, I can ensure you either do things the right way, or I will ensure you won't get a single moment of peace. If I need to tear apart your self-esteem and crush you again and again, I will."
"I survived hazing in the military," Shepard said. "It takes more than a comment on my age to make me angry."
"Your mother never loved you."
Shepard's eyes widened for a moment, before they narrowed. "That's not true."
"I'm yet to be proven wrong on anything, you know?" I drawled with a half-smirk. "Don't trust me, Shepard. But know this...you were shocked just then. I saw that. Don't think 'hazing' in the military is like actually trying to rip apart a living being through words alone. Hazing's final result is to make a soldier strong. They push buttons, but they never go for the self-destruct. I don't have that limiter. If I need to self-destruct you again and again, relentlessly, day after day, I will. And you'll listen. You'll have to because countless billions are at risk of dying at any moment if you don't. You think you're a bitch, Shepard? You think you're doing the right thing even though countless suffer? Think again. I'm here to ensure you never do it again. I'm setting you straight."
"The teachers on Earth couldn't set me straight, my family couldn't set me straight. What makes you think you can, uh?"
"Shepard, Shepard, Shepard," I said with a sigh while shaking my head. "I'm not going to set you straight and make you into a frilly princess who enjoys knitting. I'm going to set you straight, my definition of straight. You can keep snapping necks one handed and using enemies as meat shields, I'm not going to stop you from doing that. I am going to ensure you don't needlessly antagonize people, murder innocents, or do a very good job at failing this frigging mission."
"You are antagonizing me," Shepard said. "And you're doing a great job at it too. If it's so important this mission succeeds the way you want it to, why not be more..."
"What? Ass-licking? I'm not one and neither are you. So, Commander Jane Shepard, how about a truce? Hate my guts all you want, it's not going to change anything. But do as I say when I say it, and you'll find out your life's about to get all the better. Make your decisions in the field. Make your calls on the battles to come, but if I tell you not to kill someone, then by all that is holy, unholy, daemonic or otherwise angelic...don't. kill. them."
"Truce. You're still a bastard, and I still think you're using some Secret-Ops technology to pass by unnoticed."
"Truce. I am a very pleasant person to those who warrants it, and if advanced enough technology can be passed off as magic, then magic can be passed off as sufficiently advanced technology," I drawled back. "The causes of me being here could be either technologically so advanced to make a mere human mind balk, or..." I blinked. "Magical in origin."
I frowned.
I hadn't thought magic could be a part of it.
Then again...it could be, couldn't it?
As Shepard walked over to rejoin the other two, I remained silent and lost in thought.
...
Could magic be the answer, in place of science?
//Acquiring new data. I told you so. Shut up.
"Go ahead," Shepard said flatly to both Jacob and Miranda. "Wait for me at the entrance. I need to check on something."
"Commander-" Miranda began, but Shepard merely had to glare at her -even through the helmet- for her to shut up and obey.
In the hallway just outside the clinic, as the place grew dimmer due to the warning signs of lack of air, Shepard whirled on me and...stopped midway.
She had begun to raise her gun, but suddenly found herself realizing that it wouldn't work.
"So~," I said, "Realized it finally? I am not a byproduct of your imagination."
"I don't let anyone talk to me like that," Shepard said calmly, or at least trying to.
"No? You mean, you don't let anyone talk to you like you talk to the rest of the world?"
Shepard glared. "I can ignore you for another day."
"And billions can die in little more than an hour," I flatly said. "Or a minute, really. Tick-Tock," I moved my index finger sideways, "Tick-Tock. You've got to deal with the air exchange for now, Shepard. Do concentrate on that, would you?"
"You're not going to tell me how to stop the Reapers?"
"If I had arrived years ago, I would have," I said flatly. "Now however, it's no longer possible. The Reapers are coming. The Collectors are merely acquiring genetic samples of the main races and softening up with plagues and whatnot the galaxy, so that they'll have an easier time. Do you understand? They'll slip in, either through a backdoor or by the main door. And you can't stop them. Oh, sure, you can try, but the only true way of keeping them at bay was to never let the signal go at all. Now? Now you have to suffer through the deal to stave them off. But at least you do get a chance," I sighed. "And it's not going to be pretty."
Shepard snorted. "Since when is any of this pretty?"
"Oh, you'd be surprised. A lot of things can be pretty if viewed the right way."
"So what are you?" Shepard asked. "You're not a hallucination, and you know too much about me, too much about the mission, too much about everything. What are you?"
I blinked. "I told you, I am-"
"That's bullshit."
"No, it's not," I said flatly. "Your belief that there is only one reality and only one commander Shepard out in all of the existence is quite selfish. You aren't so special as to be an unique existence," I deadpanned. "There are countless Shepards, males, females, with better backgrounds than yours, with families, or without, as better guys, or better women than you, and so forth." I shrugged. "I suppose some are even called Gary or Mary."
"This doesn't help me fight the Reapers."
"No? Are you sure?" I drawled. "Maybe if you stopped calling bullshit where there is none, I might be able to help you."
"Where do you get the information? The Shadow Broker?" Shepard hazarded.
"So, at the moment, what do you think I am actually?" I asked offhandedly.
"A secret services operative using an anti-grav floating device and some form of trick with an invisibility cloak field when you pass through solid matter," she answered.
"Really," I said flatly. "And about the gun?"
"You have an illusion of yourself talking to me while you stay hidden nearby."
"This is bullshit," I snarled. "And my knowledge of future events, that happen just seconds after?"
"You could have predicted the logical outcome ahead of the doctor, or you could be in league with him."
I massaged my temples. "There is no worst blind man than the one who does not wish to see."
"So, you're lapdog of which secret service?"
"None," I grumbled. "Frankly," I floated closer to her, "If I were and had that knowledge, I would never choose you to save the galaxy. I'd go to the Geth."
Shepard blinked. "You'd save the Galaxy from the Reapers by going to the Geth?"
"Indeed. There are two factions of Geths, the Heretics and the Geth, the Heretics are the one fighting for the Reapers, and have sacrificed their future hoping for one given to them by the Reapers. Funnily enough, they don't realize they'll be exterminated when the war's over. The Geth, instead, are isolationists and simply want to be left alone to create a Dyson sphere, in which 'to live together forever'. They're pretty sweet when you think about it. They just want to be left in peace."
"The Geth," Shepard deadpanned. "The Geth are better than me," she added. "I can kill a Geth Colossus with my bare hands. And they're better than me. And how would you go about contacting them, then?"
"They started an experiment on whether they could get organics to believe anything, something about an extra moon on a planet. It worked so well they even got a religion started over it," I remarked. "Find the forum, find the user who started it, then send him a Private Message if he's still registered. If he's not, find out which set of network relays he used...or just open another discussion on a public net forum. Maybe a Geth-loving one."
"A Geth-Loving forum?"
"Why, you don't think they exist in Citadel space? The Internet, unless it changed drastically, always holds a simple truth: there is everything, you just need to know how to find it."
Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Really."
"Yes, really," I drawled.
"You'd contact the Geth over the internet."
"Yes, and you'd need surprisingly little words to actually get their attention. Something like 'Nazara. Geth Heretics. I understand a Platform is looking for me, and I'm Commander Shepard.'."
"Wait, a platform?" Shepard blinked.
"Yes, the Geth have sent a platform looking for you," I nodded. "To initiate first contact and ask for help in fighting the Reapers."
"For a secret service guy-"
"I am not a member of secret services," I flatly hissed.
"Of course, if you were one you wouldn't tell me."
"We're wasting time,"I sighed. "I already broke you once, breaking you again right now doesn't seem-"
"You didn't break me," Shepard interrupted me.
"Oh no?" I raised an eyebrow. "Your breakdown in the Normandy-"
"I was just tired," Shepard drawled.
"Next thing you'll tell me is that you started your menopause," I deadpanned.
"I am not that old!"
"No?" I inclined my head to the side. "Don't bitches go in menopause early?"
Shepard flinched. "I don't have to stay and listen to your shit, you know?"
"Oh, of course not," I nodded. "Billions die if you don't, but who cares? Slaughter, carnage, murder, little children corpses burning alive under the rays of Reapers' weaponry...who cares." I shrugged.
"Look, can't you just give me something to work on? You don't have to like me, but we could at least work something out."
"Oh, but we are working something out," I deadpanned. "I can't force you to do things, Shepard. On the other hand, I can ensure you either do things the right way, or I will ensure you won't get a single moment of peace. If I need to tear apart your self-esteem and crush you again and again, I will."
"I survived hazing in the military," Shepard said. "It takes more than a comment on my age to make me angry."
"Your mother never loved you."
Shepard's eyes widened for a moment, before they narrowed. "That's not true."
"I'm yet to be proven wrong on anything, you know?" I drawled with a half-smirk. "Don't trust me, Shepard. But know this...you were shocked just then. I saw that. Don't think 'hazing' in the military is like actually trying to rip apart a living being through words alone. Hazing's final result is to make a soldier strong. They push buttons, but they never go for the self-destruct. I don't have that limiter. If I need to self-destruct you again and again, relentlessly, day after day, I will. And you'll listen. You'll have to because countless billions are at risk of dying at any moment if you don't. You think you're a bitch, Shepard? You think you're doing the right thing even though countless suffer? Think again. I'm here to ensure you never do it again. I'm setting you straight."
"The teachers on Earth couldn't set me straight, my family couldn't set me straight. What makes you think you can, uh?"
"Shepard, Shepard, Shepard," I said with a sigh while shaking my head. "I'm not going to set you straight and make you into a frilly princess who enjoys knitting. I'm going to set you straight, my definition of straight. You can keep snapping necks one handed and using enemies as meat shields, I'm not going to stop you from doing that. I am going to ensure you don't needlessly antagonize people, murder innocents, or do a very good job at failing this frigging mission."
"You are antagonizing me," Shepard said. "And you're doing a great job at it too. If it's so important this mission succeeds the way you want it to, why not be more..."
"What? Ass-licking? I'm not one and neither are you. So, Commander Jane Shepard, how about a truce? Hate my guts all you want, it's not going to change anything. But do as I say when I say it, and you'll find out your life's about to get all the better. Make your decisions in the field. Make your calls on the battles to come, but if I tell you not to kill someone, then by all that is holy, unholy, daemonic or otherwise angelic...don't. kill. them."
"Truce. You're still a bastard, and I still think you're using some Secret-Ops technology to pass by unnoticed."
"Truce. I am a very pleasant person to those who warrants it, and if advanced enough technology can be passed off as magic, then magic can be passed off as sufficiently advanced technology," I drawled back. "The causes of me being here could be either technologically so advanced to make a mere human mind balk, or..." I blinked. "Magical in origin."
I frowned.
I hadn't thought magic could be a part of it.
Then again...it could be, couldn't it?
As Shepard walked over to rejoin the other two, I remained silent and lost in thought.
...
Could magic be the answer, in place of science?
//Acquiring new data. I told you so. Shut up.
Silver W. King
King of Adventures
- Location
- The Nasuverse
Huh, not bad on finally reaching a compromise.
Chargone
Invisable operator
- Location
- New Zealand
I think you mean technology at the end there, not science. (And even then the implied opposition is debateable. See Element Zero for a local example.) Technology is things we understand and use. Magic is things we don't understand and someone uses. Science is the process of gaining that understanding.
Interesting fic so far.
Interesting fic so far.
Silver W. King
King of Adventures
- Location
- The Nasuverse
This might be due to me know close to nothing about ME, but I'm looking forward to Shade returning to Naruto's world and sees the changes he makes. Wonder how much good, or bad, he made things? 
Given his track record? It could be on the ruins of Konoha, watching the Hokage fighting a Sharigan wielding Orochimaru. Then Naruto welcomes him as his best friend forever because he helped Konoha so much. I would actually prefer something like that, because if things go well the horror has a chance to become much-much worse.This might be due to me know close to nothing about ME, but I'm looking forward to Shade returning to Naruto's world and sees the changes he makes. Wonder how much good, or bad, he made things?
Damn, I suck at thinking up plausible bad scenarios.
Silver W. King
King of Adventures
- Location
- The Nasuverse
So, Obsessive Naruto?
I'm thinking pathetically grateful Naruto, who didn't made another friend since Shade. His canon tendency to cling to people all focused on one guy, who spends most of his time in another world, and he can't be sure when he is back. No other friends, he never felt the need to after the "One true friend", being under suspicion and watch, because of his self-training. Very grateful to Shade, because Naruto doesn't know, that every change Shade made just made the world worse than canon.
Bad-case scenario, yet in-character for this Naruto?
Naruto: Welcome back, Shade-sensei! I'm so happy to see you again!
Shade: Naruto. Why is there a giant tree in the background? Haven't we discussed this?
Naruto: I have no idea what you're talking about. I did not try to double-cross Madara and turn the world into an illusion so that I can get you back! Obito, buddy, back me up here!
Obito: ...Naruto. I fully understand where you're coming from, but listen to me: You can't insist on inventing imaginary friends forever! Don't stop now that we're so close.
Shade: Imaginary, am I? You're on, you sicko. Naruto, tell him...
Naruto: Welcome back, Shade-sensei! I'm so happy to see you again!
Shade: Naruto. Why is there a giant tree in the background? Haven't we discussed this?
Naruto: I have no idea what you're talking about. I did not try to double-cross Madara and turn the world into an illusion so that I can get you back! Obito, buddy, back me up here!
Obito: ...Naruto. I fully understand where you're coming from, but listen to me: You can't insist on inventing imaginary friends forever! Don't stop now that we're so close.
Shade: Imaginary, am I? You're on, you sicko. Naruto, tell him...
After every chapter, I felt like bursting out in manic laughter. The potential for utter despair is delicious, considering Shade is basically a diabolus ex machina from the perspective of everyone in the universes he visits, except the protagonist and himself.
He is totally going to make everything worse than it could be, while trying to make things better, probably not realizing that since a God Author exists, he has zero free will.
He is totally going to make everything worse than it could be, while trying to make things better, probably not realizing that since a God Author exists, he has zero free will.
Would be funny if Yami Naruto was replaced by a mental representation of Shade.
Naruto: Right! I'm ready to face my dark side!
Y!Shade: Are you, really? Let's talk about your parents...
Naruto: Right! I'm ready to face my dark side!
Y!Shade: Are you, really? Let's talk about your parents...
29
- Location
- https://discord.gg/z9tBvbh
Chapter Twenty-Eight.
Defeating the Vorcha wasn't difficult at all. I didn't have anything of interest to tell Commander Shepard as she fought her way through their numbers like a lawnmower against blades of grass. Or a hair cutting tool against a hippie. It was...gory.
I will leave the description of viscera, blood, and various random Vorcha organ flying as high speed shotgun bullets perforated their innards up to the imagination of someone else.
I admit, the game did keep it very, very clean.
There was blood on the floor everywhere.
And I couldn't show the weakness of retching in a corner my non-existing breakfast, so I kept myself quiet and still, letting my body be 'pulled' along for the ride.
Shepard never missed.
Now, if you fire thirty bullets, you're going to miss at least once. It's a fact. You can't just tell me you can fire thirty shot, hit thirty targets, and do all that as headshots. It just isn't done.
It's not possible.
Now, if Cerberus actually made Commander Shepard a sort of 'Mary Sue of Utter Doom', then I could understand. I would be shocked, utterly aghast, but I would understand. You've got to save the galaxy, your chance is through getting the original back to life, while we're at it let's give her the strength of a Krogan and the hand coordination and reflexes of...some sort of highly coordinated species.
And if that wasn't the case, and Commander Shepard was that good by herself...
Then why weren't they funding clonation and getting an army of her?
"You chose a bad day to stand in my way!" she snarled, and pulled the trigger thrice, at point-blank, against the face of a screaming Vorcha.
The Vorcha was screaming in fear.
Right. The emotional issues.
"Was a triple tap really necessary?" I asked offhandedly, a hand in front of my mouth as she kicked aside the corpse to have room to maneuver the cure into the air system, as well as reactivating it.
"Vorcha have a lot of redundant organs."
"Aren't those the Krogans?" I asked.
"Maybe. Don't care. I find the differences they make while they scream their last to be more entertaining."
Ka-chink.
I grimaced.
"Commander? Were you talking to me?" Miranda asked.
"No," Shepard replied calmly. "I wasn't talking. The cure's in the system, the air's working...let's get back to the good doctor's clinic and get him on board."
I remained quiet.
It had been unmistakeable, and this time, I had counted them.
Five.
At the end of five Ka-chinks, there would be ten seconds, then a 'clunk', and then my fate would be 'sealed' and I'd end up moving again.
It was precise.
If everything remained as per 'Trust' scenario, then I'd move on as soon as four more were heard.
But then again, I doubted Shepard 'respected' me or 'trusted' me. No, the concept had to be larger than that, more wide in acceptance. As it was, Shepard understood we worked together to save the galaxy. She was willing to extend thus a minimum of trust in my regards.
And it had been acquired the moment we had exchanged banter that hadn't been poisonous, nor had it contained tiny barbs at one another.
It was dangerous.
Mordin quickly packed, and then headed off for the Normandy while Shepard instead began his walk towards Omega's prime establishment once more, this time to enter the 'recruitment' of the mercenaries.
She hadn't even washed her armor off.
The bouncer aptly decided to stand aside and not say anything to the woman who had Vorcha guts draped around her shoulders like it was an expensive fur.
Heck, on Omega, that was probably what passed by for 'furs'. Vorcha skin.
Or Krogan guts.
Or things like that.
"Sign me right up! See, I've got a gun!" a young boy exclaimed in front of the line, excitedly waving around the gun. The mercenaries weren't impressed.
"Punch the light out of him," I deadpanned. "He's a danger to everyone else on his firing line, and he dies horribly too."
Shepard, good g-ahem, Shepard, Gut-Dressed that she was, merely patted the boy's shoulder to make him turn around, and at the same time delivered him one hell of a punch that sent him reeling on the floor, knocked out.
"If they're all like this," she snarled to the mercenary captain, "I don't think you're going to take Archangel."
"We planned on using those like him as fodder," the mercenary captain remarked offhandedly, not even bothered one of his 'recruits' was down on the ground.
"Sign me and my team up," she said.
"My team and I," I corrected her.
She didn't show signs of having heard me.
The mercenary didn't need convincing. Then again, there was a woman with Vorcha guts on her armor in front of him.
I doubted anyone would have wanted to mess with someone who didn't care they had...
"You know, you have Vorcha guts draped around your shoulders?" I said, once more as if it was the most common thing in the universe.
"Oh," Shepard said as she walked towards the...what were they, city-shuttles? anyway, as she walked, she patted her shoulders and removed them. "Damn visor," she grumbled. "Can't see my shoulders."
"So you weren't doing it on purpose?" I asked.
She was about to answer, but then realized Miranda and Jacob were still there, and thus stayed quiet.
The trip with the city shuttle was, in the game, nothing more than a loading screen. I, on the other hand, savored the trip as we flew through the sprawl that was Omega, all the while keeping an eye out for the destination.
My memory on what the mission actually entailed was fuzzy -I did remember the renegade action of knocking out the guy repairing the flying...helicopter? Anti-Grav Copter?
Anyway, I remembered that scene, and somewhere in my fuzzy brain there also was another about a paragon interrupt.
Maybe.
Unless I was imagining it.
The leader of the blue sun's, or at least the guy coming to meet the 'new batches', was a batarian.
I hummed as I listened to things I still remembered, about the bridge being a killing zone, Garrus being holed up and starting to make mistakes, a small team preparing to infiltrate at Garrus' distraction, and...that was pretty much it.
Until Edi's voice began to buzz in through Shepard's helmet, telling her that indeed, there was no other path.
I hummed. So that was where Shepard in the game got the idea of dealing with...gunships and mechs.
I had forgotten about the mechs.
But I did remember where they were once my memory was jolted
"The mechs are this way," I said, and pointed to a side door that led to where a salarian was talking about the attacking plans. "In that room over there," I added.
The only problem...was that there was a guard on standby.
Right.
This wasn't game-Mass Effect. Of course you wouldn't let a mere freelancer merc go anywhere near your mechs now, would you? After all, you'd have to be moronic stupid to not guard your mechs.
I was starting to think something was clearly going on.
Still, the lonely guard was in a corridor, rather than in the main hall where the rest of the mercenaries were.
"Miranda?" Shepard asked.
"Yes Shepard?" Miranda said, as the guard kept a lecherous eye on Miranda's generous bust.
"Blood makes me all hot and bothered," Shepard said offhandedly, loud enough for the guard to hear. "And we might die soon too. I don't want to die without scratching my itches."
I had a hand in front of my face.
This was not happening.
Miranda was a good sport and understood. "Oh, yes, I think I do understand."
Jacob was on the same boat as me.
Only, he averted his sight and was probably thinking inwardly 'What. Is. Going. On.'
I repressed the shudders as I watched the most cliché of lines actually work on the dumb-as-bricks guard.
He actually opened the door of the mech garage to have some 'privacy'.
And received a knock-knock joke under the form of a Shepard-Express Punch to the face, followed by a beat down on the floor.
"That was disgusting, Shepard," Miranda said.
"It got the job done with the guard. Now get working on the targeting parameters of the mechs."
"Yes Commander."
I sighed. "Hide the body," I drawled. "In a crate or something."
"Jacob, hide the body in a crate," Shepard said, and Jacob quickly obeyed.
And that was it for the Mech.
I had half a mind of wondering if it had been chance once more that they had ended up with a dumb-as-rock merc, or if it had all been part of some sort of subtle warning alert I should heed.
'Things are different, but they stay the same'.
I grumbled as we moved through a corridor, past the blood packs and into the area where the gunship was repaired.
There were guards there too, three of them.
And I couldn't recall for the love of all how they went away or why Shepard moved past...
"Team Bravo, go, go, go!"
Oh.
The attack on Archangel began and those guys left in a hurry, leaving behind the technician.
"Kill him, and plant charges on the gunship," I said softly. "A grenade pin triggered when the door opens would be nice."
"You want a cocktail with it?" Shepard retorted.
"A martini, mixed, but not shaken," I replied.
"The hell is a martini?" she mumbled as she ended the technician's life with...
Oh god.
She was talking normally, really, her voice hadn't changed an inch, but...
But in the meantime, she had tapped gently the technician, made him turn, slammed a fist against his face breaking the visor, taken the laser cutter...and drove it deep through the batarian's face.
The batarian died with a whimper.
Shepard removed the bits of batarian brain from her fingers.
I just...
I just looked.
I looked at...at...gah...gah...da-da-da. Happy place. Go in a happy place. A happy place is where the is no fried brain of batarian. A happy place is where everyone's happy. Happy. Happy. I'm so happy I'm in a happy place.
Everything's fine and rosy tinted in a happy place.
"Eh," Shepard smirked as she walked away from the gory scene, a couple of grenades left inside the half-closed gunship's door.
When the door would open, the pin would be ejected thanks to a tiny steel wire, and the explosion would tear apart the pilot and the ship's controls.
And then we headed towards the barricade.
I admit, I expected a massacre.
It was, in fact. There was corpses, dozens of them strewn around. The freelancers were waddling through them, some with lost limbs from highly powered shots tearing them apart. It was a scene of carnage...
And Shepard added to it shooting straight in the back of the freelancers.
Jacob concentrated fire, his shots glowing red hot as some unlucky guys ended up burning alive into cinders in mere instants -that had to hurt, there was no other way around it.
And Miranda flung a couple of dudes off the ledge, to die thanks to Gravity, the number one bitch of the universe.
Everyone bows to gravity.
Everyone.
Except anti-grav, I think.
Lalala.
Don't look at the corpses.
You're doing a good job Shade. Don't look at the corpses.
Believe~
Believe in yourself~
Shepard's not going to brutally murder you because she can't~
I want my mommy~
I want to forget seeing all this carnage~
Please merciful god, please, I'll be a good boy, I swear~
I swear I'll write only uplifting stories of love and friendship. I swear I'll be a very good, very nice, very kind boy. Shade is a good boy.
I swear.
Just stop this.
Please, stop this.
That guy's crawling away holding his guts and Shepard's hitting him in the back with a burst of fire.
I don't want to see that.
There's another crying, and Jacob's putting a hole in his head.
I don't want to see that.
Please god. Please.
I promise I'll be good.
The meeting with Archangel would probably be a good one.
I couldn't care less.
I was twitching.
How much blood is there in a human body?
A lot.
Too much.
Too much to see.
...
I wanted to go home.
I. Wanted. To. Go. Home.
And I couldn't.
//Whistles Innocently. This is going too far. I like this.
Defeating the Vorcha wasn't difficult at all. I didn't have anything of interest to tell Commander Shepard as she fought her way through their numbers like a lawnmower against blades of grass. Or a hair cutting tool against a hippie. It was...gory.
I will leave the description of viscera, blood, and various random Vorcha organ flying as high speed shotgun bullets perforated their innards up to the imagination of someone else.
I admit, the game did keep it very, very clean.
There was blood on the floor everywhere.
And I couldn't show the weakness of retching in a corner my non-existing breakfast, so I kept myself quiet and still, letting my body be 'pulled' along for the ride.
Shepard never missed.
Now, if you fire thirty bullets, you're going to miss at least once. It's a fact. You can't just tell me you can fire thirty shot, hit thirty targets, and do all that as headshots. It just isn't done.
It's not possible.
Now, if Cerberus actually made Commander Shepard a sort of 'Mary Sue of Utter Doom', then I could understand. I would be shocked, utterly aghast, but I would understand. You've got to save the galaxy, your chance is through getting the original back to life, while we're at it let's give her the strength of a Krogan and the hand coordination and reflexes of...some sort of highly coordinated species.
And if that wasn't the case, and Commander Shepard was that good by herself...
Then why weren't they funding clonation and getting an army of her?
"You chose a bad day to stand in my way!" she snarled, and pulled the trigger thrice, at point-blank, against the face of a screaming Vorcha.
The Vorcha was screaming in fear.
Right. The emotional issues.
"Was a triple tap really necessary?" I asked offhandedly, a hand in front of my mouth as she kicked aside the corpse to have room to maneuver the cure into the air system, as well as reactivating it.
"Vorcha have a lot of redundant organs."
"Aren't those the Krogans?" I asked.
"Maybe. Don't care. I find the differences they make while they scream their last to be more entertaining."
Ka-chink.
I grimaced.
"Commander? Were you talking to me?" Miranda asked.
"No," Shepard replied calmly. "I wasn't talking. The cure's in the system, the air's working...let's get back to the good doctor's clinic and get him on board."
I remained quiet.
It had been unmistakeable, and this time, I had counted them.
Five.
At the end of five Ka-chinks, there would be ten seconds, then a 'clunk', and then my fate would be 'sealed' and I'd end up moving again.
It was precise.
If everything remained as per 'Trust' scenario, then I'd move on as soon as four more were heard.
But then again, I doubted Shepard 'respected' me or 'trusted' me. No, the concept had to be larger than that, more wide in acceptance. As it was, Shepard understood we worked together to save the galaxy. She was willing to extend thus a minimum of trust in my regards.
And it had been acquired the moment we had exchanged banter that hadn't been poisonous, nor had it contained tiny barbs at one another.
It was dangerous.
Mordin quickly packed, and then headed off for the Normandy while Shepard instead began his walk towards Omega's prime establishment once more, this time to enter the 'recruitment' of the mercenaries.
She hadn't even washed her armor off.
The bouncer aptly decided to stand aside and not say anything to the woman who had Vorcha guts draped around her shoulders like it was an expensive fur.
Heck, on Omega, that was probably what passed by for 'furs'. Vorcha skin.
Or Krogan guts.
Or things like that.
"Sign me right up! See, I've got a gun!" a young boy exclaimed in front of the line, excitedly waving around the gun. The mercenaries weren't impressed.
"Punch the light out of him," I deadpanned. "He's a danger to everyone else on his firing line, and he dies horribly too."
Shepard, good g-ahem, Shepard, Gut-Dressed that she was, merely patted the boy's shoulder to make him turn around, and at the same time delivered him one hell of a punch that sent him reeling on the floor, knocked out.
"If they're all like this," she snarled to the mercenary captain, "I don't think you're going to take Archangel."
"We planned on using those like him as fodder," the mercenary captain remarked offhandedly, not even bothered one of his 'recruits' was down on the ground.
"Sign me and my team up," she said.
"My team and I," I corrected her.
She didn't show signs of having heard me.
The mercenary didn't need convincing. Then again, there was a woman with Vorcha guts on her armor in front of him.
I doubted anyone would have wanted to mess with someone who didn't care they had...
"You know, you have Vorcha guts draped around your shoulders?" I said, once more as if it was the most common thing in the universe.
"Oh," Shepard said as she walked towards the...what were they, city-shuttles? anyway, as she walked, she patted her shoulders and removed them. "Damn visor," she grumbled. "Can't see my shoulders."
"So you weren't doing it on purpose?" I asked.
She was about to answer, but then realized Miranda and Jacob were still there, and thus stayed quiet.
The trip with the city shuttle was, in the game, nothing more than a loading screen. I, on the other hand, savored the trip as we flew through the sprawl that was Omega, all the while keeping an eye out for the destination.
My memory on what the mission actually entailed was fuzzy -I did remember the renegade action of knocking out the guy repairing the flying...helicopter? Anti-Grav Copter?
Anyway, I remembered that scene, and somewhere in my fuzzy brain there also was another about a paragon interrupt.
Maybe.
Unless I was imagining it.
The leader of the blue sun's, or at least the guy coming to meet the 'new batches', was a batarian.
I hummed as I listened to things I still remembered, about the bridge being a killing zone, Garrus being holed up and starting to make mistakes, a small team preparing to infiltrate at Garrus' distraction, and...that was pretty much it.
Until Edi's voice began to buzz in through Shepard's helmet, telling her that indeed, there was no other path.
I hummed. So that was where Shepard in the game got the idea of dealing with...gunships and mechs.
I had forgotten about the mechs.
But I did remember where they were once my memory was jolted
"The mechs are this way," I said, and pointed to a side door that led to where a salarian was talking about the attacking plans. "In that room over there," I added.
The only problem...was that there was a guard on standby.
Right.
This wasn't game-Mass Effect. Of course you wouldn't let a mere freelancer merc go anywhere near your mechs now, would you? After all, you'd have to be moronic stupid to not guard your mechs.
I was starting to think something was clearly going on.
Still, the lonely guard was in a corridor, rather than in the main hall where the rest of the mercenaries were.
"Miranda?" Shepard asked.
"Yes Shepard?" Miranda said, as the guard kept a lecherous eye on Miranda's generous bust.
"Blood makes me all hot and bothered," Shepard said offhandedly, loud enough for the guard to hear. "And we might die soon too. I don't want to die without scratching my itches."
I had a hand in front of my face.
This was not happening.
Miranda was a good sport and understood. "Oh, yes, I think I do understand."
Jacob was on the same boat as me.
Only, he averted his sight and was probably thinking inwardly 'What. Is. Going. On.'
I repressed the shudders as I watched the most cliché of lines actually work on the dumb-as-bricks guard.
He actually opened the door of the mech garage to have some 'privacy'.
And received a knock-knock joke under the form of a Shepard-Express Punch to the face, followed by a beat down on the floor.
"That was disgusting, Shepard," Miranda said.
"It got the job done with the guard. Now get working on the targeting parameters of the mechs."
"Yes Commander."
I sighed. "Hide the body," I drawled. "In a crate or something."
"Jacob, hide the body in a crate," Shepard said, and Jacob quickly obeyed.
And that was it for the Mech.
I had half a mind of wondering if it had been chance once more that they had ended up with a dumb-as-rock merc, or if it had all been part of some sort of subtle warning alert I should heed.
'Things are different, but they stay the same'.
I grumbled as we moved through a corridor, past the blood packs and into the area where the gunship was repaired.
There were guards there too, three of them.
And I couldn't recall for the love of all how they went away or why Shepard moved past...
"Team Bravo, go, go, go!"
Oh.
The attack on Archangel began and those guys left in a hurry, leaving behind the technician.
"Kill him, and plant charges on the gunship," I said softly. "A grenade pin triggered when the door opens would be nice."
"You want a cocktail with it?" Shepard retorted.
"A martini, mixed, but not shaken," I replied.
"The hell is a martini?" she mumbled as she ended the technician's life with...
Oh god.
She was talking normally, really, her voice hadn't changed an inch, but...
But in the meantime, she had tapped gently the technician, made him turn, slammed a fist against his face breaking the visor, taken the laser cutter...and drove it deep through the batarian's face.
The batarian died with a whimper.
Shepard removed the bits of batarian brain from her fingers.
I just...
I just looked.
I looked at...at...gah...gah...da-da-da. Happy place. Go in a happy place. A happy place is where the is no fried brain of batarian. A happy place is where everyone's happy. Happy. Happy. I'm so happy I'm in a happy place.
Everything's fine and rosy tinted in a happy place.
"Eh," Shepard smirked as she walked away from the gory scene, a couple of grenades left inside the half-closed gunship's door.
When the door would open, the pin would be ejected thanks to a tiny steel wire, and the explosion would tear apart the pilot and the ship's controls.
And then we headed towards the barricade.
I admit, I expected a massacre.
It was, in fact. There was corpses, dozens of them strewn around. The freelancers were waddling through them, some with lost limbs from highly powered shots tearing them apart. It was a scene of carnage...
And Shepard added to it shooting straight in the back of the freelancers.
Jacob concentrated fire, his shots glowing red hot as some unlucky guys ended up burning alive into cinders in mere instants -that had to hurt, there was no other way around it.
And Miranda flung a couple of dudes off the ledge, to die thanks to Gravity, the number one bitch of the universe.
Everyone bows to gravity.
Everyone.
Except anti-grav, I think.
Lalala.
Don't look at the corpses.
You're doing a good job Shade. Don't look at the corpses.
Believe~
Believe in yourself~
Shepard's not going to brutally murder you because she can't~
I want my mommy~
I want to forget seeing all this carnage~
Please merciful god, please, I'll be a good boy, I swear~
I swear I'll write only uplifting stories of love and friendship. I swear I'll be a very good, very nice, very kind boy. Shade is a good boy.
I swear.
Just stop this.
Please, stop this.
That guy's crawling away holding his guts and Shepard's hitting him in the back with a burst of fire.
I don't want to see that.
There's another crying, and Jacob's putting a hole in his head.
I don't want to see that.
Please god. Please.
I promise I'll be good.
The meeting with Archangel would probably be a good one.
I couldn't care less.
I was twitching.
How much blood is there in a human body?
A lot.
Too much.
Too much to see.
...
I wanted to go home.
I. Wanted. To. Go. Home.
And I couldn't.
//Whistles Innocently. This is going too far. I like this.
at this point I have to ask is this considered sadism or masochism?
Ozymandias
I HATE
As an aside, "me and my team" was correct there. Maybe "my team and me", I don't remember if there's a set order.
EDIT: There's not a set order, but putting yourself last is considered polite by anyone that actually cares.
EDIT: There's not a set order, but putting yourself last is considered polite by anyone that actually cares.
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- Location
- None
And another entertaining chapter with asshole/sociopath Shepard.
Shade appears to be having a slight breakdown, I wonder how that'll end up.
It's "my team and I," actually. You have been out Grammar-nazi'd!
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Ozymandias
I HATE
I was under the impression that if you could take away the non-you subjects and wind up with an incorrect sentence, it was incorrect.
For example: "Sign my friends and I up" becomes "Sign I up" and is therefore wrong, while "Sign my friends and me up" becomes "Sign me up" and is therefore correct.
I dug into it anyway. Yes, my original post (and the reason provided in this one) was correct... though my wording in the reason is somewhat clumsy.
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"My god he's hitting Tobi levels of crazy...."